A Heart's Refuge

Chapter Four

Would he look bored if he crossed his arms?

Rick shifted in his seat, fidgeted, then did it anyway. It had been years since he’d attended church. Not only did he feel out of the rhythm of the church service, he also felt out of place sitting with Becky’s obviously close family.

Beside him, Becky leaned forward, her elbows resting on her knees, her chin planted on the palms of her hands, her attention on the preacher. Seeing her head canted to one side and her mouth curved in a half smile, he caught a glimpse of the girl he only saw when she was around other people. She wore a pale blue dress today in some kind of floaty, peasant-looking style. It enhanced the auburn tint of her hair, brought out the peach of her complexion. Pretty in a fun, semiflirty way. Not that she would be flirting with him.

“So I want to encourage all of us to pray for people who hurt us,” the minister was saying, and Rick pulled his attention back to the man. “Praying for our enemies frees us from bitterness. From hatred.” He paused a moment as if to bring the point home.

“As William Law said, ‘There is nothing that makes us love a man so much as prayer for him,’” he continued. “So Christ’s command to pray for our enemies is not only for our enemies’ good. It is for ours, as well.”

Rick looked down at the toes of his shoes as the minister’s words pushed him back to his last memory of his mother. She was sitting at a desk in her bedroom, her head bent over a book. When he had asked her what she was doing, she told him she was praying for him.

He looked over at Becky and wondered if she, too, had been praying for him as her parents had suggested. He doubted it.

The congregation got to its feet, breaking off his thoughts.

As the worship group came forward, Becky slipped past him, walked down the aisle and up to the podium. Without any announcement she picked up a cordless microphone, took her position on the stage and cued the group leader with a faint lift of her chin.

The music started quietly, the gentle chords of the piano picking out the melody, the electric organ filling in the spaces.

Becky faced the congregation, waiting as the rest of the musicians joined in. She stood perfectly still, holding the mike with one hand. An overhead light shone brightly on her, singling her out from the rest of the singers. At a pause in the music, she started singing.

Her voice rang clear as the words of an old familiar song poured out of her. “‘Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be Thy name.’”

Rick recognized the prayer. Had mumbled the words himself as a young boy still trying to please his grandfather.

But he had never heard them sung with such crystal sincerity. He couldn’t keep his eyes off Becky as she closed her eyes and her hand lifted up, palm up in a gesture of surrender. She was a woman in communion with her God, her prayer pouring out of her in song, peace suffusing her features.

And as she sang, he heard in the depths of his soul, a still small voice, familiar, yet long suppressed.